


Finding Peace

by cadkitten



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Docking, Fluff, Frottage, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 01:02:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7145705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd practiced violin in here, created a hundred paintings from the window on the far side of the room. More than all of that, he'd found himself in the books that lined the walls; found peace and pleasant relief within the pages of each and every book. It probably seemed impossible to someone outside, looking in, but he'd allowed every page of every last book in this room to grace his fingertips, let his mind spark and ignite within the words found upon them. Every moment had been stocked up in his mind as something to cherish, to behold as some of the best moments of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mikee Riggs](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Mikee+Riggs).



> This one's for you, Mikee Riggs. Bet you didn't think I'd do it, did you? (Well maybe you had an inkling when I told you that you were going to end up reading it and to decide which one of three pairings. But hey, I'm a dick like that. Ha!)  
>  \- Heinlein (Stranger in a Strange Land)  
> Beta Readers: kate1zena  
> Song[s]: "Hymn for the Missing" by Red

Damian sat, curled up on one of the chairs beside the ever-crackling fireplace. He always enjoyed his time down here, the moments spent simply lost in the world of whatever book he'd chosen to pick up for the evening. The little stolen moments he spent in the early evenings - time he should have been sleeping - were some of the best hours he'd ever found. Even now, years after he had left home - had joined the Titans and made a name for himself - he still came back to the manor over the holidays. He'd never been big on family gatherings, but he _did_ miss the familiar faces and the way they all chided after one another as if they'd never been gone a day. 

No matter how he missed them, there was only so much he could take of the incessant chatter. There were things he didn't share with many people, pieces of himself that left him feeling utterly vulnerable, and that wasn't something he enjoyed. Groups of people still made him nervous when he wasn't actively fighting them; the walls sometimes threatened to cave in and crush him if he found too many people around him. The world outside his sword, the one that existed for most people, left him feeling lost... alone. 

The rational part of his mind knew it wasn't the truth, understood the fallacy of the thought processes, but that didn't change the way certain things affected him. He'd learned from an early age to hide it all away, to behave in the manner that he did when it started, tossing curt little comments at whoever got too close to him, physically shoving back against anyone who encroached too close to the truth of his emotions. He knew some of it was all too obvious, but he also knew that it didn't give away the reality of the whole, only the presence of a piece. Sometimes, it was that fact that kept him afloat in the midst of things he _wanted_ to endure; when he was with people he wanted to see. It hadn't tonight. He hadn't wanted to start an argument or slam anyone against the nearest table in an attempt to punish them for what he was feeling. 

Instead, he'd found himself here, enjoying the silent embrace of the room that had been his safe haven for most of the years he'd lived here. He'd practiced violin in here, created a hundred paintings from the window on the far side of the room. More than all of that, he'd found himself in the books that lined the walls; found peace and pleasant relief within the pages of each and every book. It probably seemed impossible to someone outside, looking in, but he'd allowed every page of every last book in this room to grace his fingertips, let his mind spark and ignite within the words found upon them. Every moment had been stocked up in his mind as something to cherish, to behold as some of the best moments of his life.

It had been instinct that led him here when he needed to get out of the situation he simply couldn't deal with any longer. Things like Dick's loud voice and Stephanie's insistence on asking him questions he had no answers for. He could still hear her voice if he let his mind wander just enough, the remnants of well-meaning inquiries that burned at his soul as if someone had placed a red-hot brand upon it. _What have you been up to? So, do you have someone special in your life? How's Titus doing?_ The last one had dug in deeper than any of them could have known. It was a secret he kept played closed to his chest, one he vowed not to divulge until well after the holidays. He'd found him a week ago and nothing had been right in his heart since then. The one and only companion he'd ever been able to count on no matter his mood, no matter his condition. Never in his life had he been so completely ripped apart. Never had he been so unable to compartmentalize an emotion and just _move on_.

Breathing out the softest of sighs, he turned the page of the one book he knew nearly every word to. An old comfort; one he'd read at least ten times in his life: cover to cover every single time. His eyes skimmed over the delicate lettering, his mind knowing the words quicker than he could actually read them on the page, though it made it easier to be reading it in his native tongue. 

The discomfort began to fade, the heartache of memories that had been dredged up by things that should have been lighthearted falling away as he lost himself back into the story. The world began to build anew around him, the pieces of a place he'd escaped to time and again stacking up, sealing him inside its walls. The sound of the fire crackling, the rasp of his own breath... the gentle caress of a breeze from somewhere within the old mansion ghosting over his skin; all of it fit so delicately into the story. So much so that he didn't even notice anyone else was there until Jason's quiet voice read from the very page his was on, the smooth flow of Arabic gliding off his tongue. 

Damian's breath caught in his throat, threatening to choke him for an instant; the realization that Jason knew a language that was near and dear to his heart catching him, holding him captive. The moment remained frozen, the words lifting from the page as Damian turned it from him, the timbre of Jason's voice changing as they moved forward, never a stumble or a single misplaced word. It was almost as if... Damian's heart thudded in his chest, the realization striking him. Jason had read this before. Had read this very copy of the book; his fingers where Damian's were now and his passion for the novel perhaps just as steeped as his own. 

Closing the book against his fingertips, Damian just listened as Jason continued on, reciting in perfect detail every single word as if he still held the novel open. Closing his eyes, he let himself catch up to Jason's pace and together they spoke the next passage, one that had always remained in his heart. "But goodness alone is never enough. A hard, cold wisdom is required for goodness to accomplish good. Goodness without wisdom invariably accomplishes evil." 

Damian opened his eyes, watching as Jason settled on the arm of his chair. "Don't look so shocked. I'm fluent in six languages, read another two... did you think I wouldn't find every book you left behind?" There was a gentle smile on Jason's lips, one that didn't chide, didn't dig no matter what his words said. Much like escaping into this room, into the depths of whatever novel he chose, Jason escaped with his words. Damian had understood that for years; had written off any gut reactions associated with them by the time he'd turned fifteen. With so many more years between, he'd found peace with nearly everything Jason could say or do. 

In a way, he'd found a kindred spirit in him - the pariah - the one who did what had to be done when the situation called for it. Damian respected that. Perhaps more than Jason would ever know; or maybe just as much as he expected given Damian's own history. 

Jason slid his bookmark from the table beside the chair, holding it out to him. "I can think of better places to be this time of the year. Heinlein will wait. He always does."

Damian accepted the bookmark, slipping it between the pages. He slid it onto the table as he stood, skirting his way around Jason and pausing to rotate his shoulder, still sore from the way he'd been slammed into the wall last night. Just the wrong angle, the wrong amount of impact, leaving him aching nearly a full day later. 

Jason's hand slid over his shoulder, his fingertips light, but promising. Ghosts of the past rose up inside Damian and he was quick to follow him out of the room, entirely devoid of any hesitation to go wherever it was that Jason desired. He'd trusted him a good many times over the years, let him into his mind a thousand ways no one would have ever suspected Damian even capable of. All the same, it had happened and right then he could feel it like it had been yesterday. 

They twisted through the hallways, only a whisper of shadows as they moved through the entryway and stepped outside into the biting wind. For an instant, Damian wondered if Jason was mad. They had no jackets and the cold was reaching a whole new low, even for Gotham. But a few steps led them to the garage, Jason fishing out the key to the door from his pocket, letting them inside, shutting the whirl of snow outside. The warmth of several well-positioned oil heaters filled the space, the peculiar smell of motor oil and solvent hanging heavy in the air. It wasn't a scent he was all that unused to and he appreciated it for what it meant. 

He followed Jason between the vehicles, running his hand along the still glorious baseboards of a Model T, the green of the paint shockingly bright in the otherwise dim space. They skirted around Jason's bike, Damian knowing it inherently, his hand resting on the seat for a moment, almost convinced he could still feel Jason's warmth radiating from it. 

Stepping around the one thing he'd never been able to figure out why it was in here - of all places, the metallic red Locus, he slid his fingers over the hood, careful that his touch was light, his fingertips dry. He let his footsteps falter as he found Jason on the other side, leaning against the edge of an old workbench, his ever-present leather jacket thrown over the chair beside him. Damian's heart did a hard little thud, his gaze flickering over Jason's features, finding a thousand words in his simple pose. There was no pressure, no expectation... but there was also an invitation of sorts. It was exactly how it had been every year since he'd left home. It was an offer that he always nearly caved on. It was everything he wanted and everything he denied. 

Looking away for an instant, he let his world narrow down to his own mind, to his own pain and the swell of loss in his heart. He found the darkness inside of him and he knew for the first time that this had been something he'd needed for longer than he was willing to admit. He took a tentative step forward, his world expanding, encompassing Jason's warmth inside of his own little world. As he eased between his legs, he sighed at the feeling of Jason's arms sliding around him, allowed himself this time of weakness in favor of how it made him feel. 

His hands rested on Jason's chest, finding himself pressed closer than he'd expected himself to desire to be. He could feel the rise and fall of Jason's chest, find the rhythm of his heart beneath the pads of his fingers... and he lived within it. Letting his eyelids lower, Damian turned his head just the slightest, waiting on the whisper of breath across his lips, waiting to give in to the one thing he'd denied. When it came, it was anything but the tragedy he'd expected it to be. His fingers gripped tighter and his breath stuck in his throat. For an instant, he was somewhere else entirely; another life, another world, and then he was right where he was, his arms wrapped tightly around Jason's shoulders, his body flush to Jason's own.

The surge he felt through his body was definitive, decisive in its correctness. Damian had never denied himself in any other facet of his life; but this one had always been where he'd found the easiest way to punish the blackness of his past. He'd never allowed himself to _feel_. Not like this. Not for another being in the way he did Jason. Out of every person on the face of this planet and he'd found himself drowning in a man he knew he shouldn't have ever wanted like this. Years had been spent in self-hatred, searching for atonement of the things he'd done and the things he'd thought.

Now, right here, in Jason's arms, he couldn't find a single thought powerful enough to stop him from finding his comfort here. It was an offer he'd grown to find no reason to not accept. One hand tangled in the short hair at the nape of Jason's neck, fingers gripping tight as he found out the taste of Jason's lips, as he savored the gentle rock of their hips. 

By the time their lips parted, Damian knew he'd never want to stop. All of his walls had come crumbling down and he could find no regret in that. Shivering as Jason's fingertips glided down his sides, he breathed out a quiet, "Is this..."

Jason's hand tightened against his side, thumb dipping down over the outline of his hipbone. "It is if you want it to be."

Damian's heart hammered in his chest in a way he hadn't known since he'd been a teenager, filled with ridiculous notions and torturous feelings that could never be truly fulfilled. His free hand slid down over Jason's chest, easing over his belt and then down to his thigh, resting there as he measured the reality of the situation. He knew there could never truly be regret on his part if they went through with it; knew there never would have been, even the first time Jason had silently offered him this escape. More than that, he knew he needed it now, perhaps more than ever. 

Slipping his hand up between them, he allowed his fingers to trace the shape of Jason's arousal, his touch delicate, perhaps gentler than Jason would have ever thought it could have been. He heard the hitch in his breath, could feel the way his grip tightened on him... and he ached for that grip elsewhere. 

"Are you sure? You have to be-"

Damian let his lips cover Jason's own, cutting off his words, swallowing whatever the rest of his protest had been as he shifted to work open Jason's belt. He made quick work of his pants, easing them open, his hand dipping inside, his touch harder now, bringing up a moan from somewhere deep inside Jason's chest. When he pulled back, he let himself meet Jason's eyes, holding his gaze steady as he slipped past the last barrier between his hand and the warmth of Jason's flesh. "I always have been." He could see the barriers crumbling, watched the walls come down that he hadn't even realized were there, and he found the man behind them, desperate to be a part of something, yearning for whatever this was just as much as Damian was. 

Jason's fingers hooked in his belt loops, tugging him forward, crashing them together, the clatter of tools from the board behind Jason falling upon the desk forcing a huff of amusement from his throat.

By the time Jason had his pants open, his hand around him, Damian honesty thought he'd lost the ability to breathe. The hand on Jason's bicep dug in so deeply he was certain there'd be a bruise, but he heard no protests from his mouth, saw no evidence of pain. It felt like how he'd imagined people described a fantasy. A fire burned through him that he knew had been brewing for a long, long time, scorching its path between Jason's touches, tracking across every single place Jason touched. He was, by no means, inexperienced, but this was something else entirely. It was a refusal to admit something that had been building. It was the ache of something denied finally coming to fruition. 

Jason's mouth found his Adam's apple and Damian's hips jerked, his hands pushing Jason's away, finally freeing Jason's cock to the air. Easing forward, he let his hips do the work for them, the slow glide of skin against skin, the pressure building up in the pit of his stomach, fire igniting along his spine. Jason's fingers gripped hard against his ass, digging into the muscle as Damian rocked, his movements growing more and more anxious. 

Jason shifted, drawing Damian in, letting him rest his forehead against his shoulder as he moved. Damian's breathing grew tighter, more forced as he drew closer and closer to the edge. He wanted it to never end and in the same instant wanted to find that gloriously freeing place within Jason's embrace. Drawing his hips back, Damian slid one hand down to grasp Jason's length, the other guiding himself until they were pressed head against head, the slip of their precum stimulating him more than he knew he'd be willing to admit if Jason ever brought it up. His breath caught and body trembled just the slightest bit, excitement taking over and he acted without regard for what seemed normal and what didn't.

Opening his eyes, he watched as he pushed the barest hint of his own foreskin over the head of Jason's cock, listened as Jason moaned for him. A thrill raced up his spine and he knew he couldn't have stopped even if someone busted down the door right then, demanding to know where the hell they were. It took everything in him to hold still, to not thrust against Jason like he so desperately wanted to. _Not yet_. 

Jason's hands fell away, gripping the edge of the table so hard the wood creaked. Damian watched his thighs flex, his hips cant just the smallest amount, and then Jason was crying out, his hips surging up, obviously beyond his control, and Damian savored every second of it, feeling the flood of warmth against his cock, leaving him nearly delirious with his own desire. 

He barely let Jason ride it out, crashing into him seconds later, pushing at his shirt, yanking at his own, providing him skin-to-skin contact as he allowed himself the mindless rut of a truly desperate man. The feeling of Jason's toned body against his own, the press of his cock against cum-slicked skin.... all of it was enough to drive him nearly mad. It was with a choked out whimper that he finally fell over the edge, shaking enough that Jason had to keep his legs from giving out beneath him. 

They spent the next few minutes just coming back down from the high they'd created, easing back into the harsher glow of reality. Damian didn't protest the way Jason didn't allow him any space of his own as they cleaned themselves up and he certainly couldn't find it in him to say a word when his arm slipped around his shoulders as they headed for the door. Maybe it should have surprised him when it was he that stopped them at the door, when it was his own hand against the frame and his own voice issuing a soft, "Wait." But it didn't. When Jason's gaze met his own, Damian felt the familiar warmth that he knew had nothing to do with what they'd just done and everything to do with Jason himself. 

Even as he formed the words, even as he found the language to speak them with, he could already see the answer in Jason's gaze. The affection there left not a single trace of guesswork. Anyone could have seen it and Damian was almost ashamed he'd denied it having been there for so many years.

"I do not think I'll be leaving this year." It wasn't a promise and it wasn't a bold confession of anything that he was feeling, but with the way Jason's face lit up, Damian figured it might as well have been. Jason turned away, heading out into the brewing storm. Damian barely heard him over the wind, but when he did, he knew he'd never wanted to hear anything more in his entire existence.

"I might know a place." And _that_ was everything Jason could have ever said, all tied up in a neat little package. Their own ways of saying the words neither of them would likely ever be able to speak. Too proud or too wounded, maybe he'd never know, but it was enough... because it was _everything_.


End file.
